


Plaything

by ScarlettSiren



Series: Toybox [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Ateez ficfest, Bukkake, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Face Slapping, Felching, Gunplay, Kink Negotiation, Lingerie, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Sex Work, Soft Ending, Some Kinks are Glossed Over and Only Vaguely Mentioned, Spanking, Use of the title Sir, Verbal Humiliation, this is filth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-08 03:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20828624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: Wooyoung has had his share of bad days. He’s a stripper—and, less often, an escort—so dead parties, rude clients and creeps are par for the course in his line of work. That doesn’t mean he can’t still love the rush of power he feels reducing men to slobbering animals, taking them for every bit of cash on their person. He lives for it, most of the time.Days like this, though, make him wonder if he’s playing with fire. Days like today, where he finds himself in a rather convincing tear-away cop uniform in a penthouse full of Seoul’s most notorious lords of the underground.





	Plaything

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: stripper who wasn’t told the party was at a mafia house and regrets barging in with his cop getup.  
Bonus Points: could be any type of party. is that a gun in your pocket was never truer than ever.
> 
> I wasn’t willing to take on anything too plotty given my current WIP workload, and this was supposed to be just some short filth. It’s definitely filth but it isn’t exactly short.

Wooyoung is having a bad day.

Wooyoung, admittedly, feels as though he has more bad days than good, especially lately, but this particular evening takes the cake.

It was supposed to be a simple job. Perform for a bunch of corporate mucky-mucks at a penthouse party. Wooyoung does think, now, in retrospect, that them requesting the cop uniform schtick was a little unusual. Mostly guys like that just want pretty, sultry… _ slutty. _Either cheap and skanky or immaculate and expensive. Maybe something holiday-themed if it’s in season. Usually the cop thing is more popular with frat parties and bachelors.

He doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he should have.

Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be in the position he’s in now; that is, handcuffed to a chair and surrounded by seven intimidating men in sharp suits.

Intimidating men who are, from what Wooyoung can gather, geondal. Mafia. Lords of the underground.

There’s seven of them, but one in particular stands closer than the others, who are surrounding Wooyoung in a sort of almost-circle. He has a certain air about him that makes him stand out… the jet-black hair and handsome features catch his attention, yes, but his _ demeanor _ sets him apart. Like the others defer to him. They’re all bosses but he is the _ Big Boss. _

He had been the one who dragged Wooyoung inside from the doorway, after all, and put a gun to his head, demanding who sent him.

“This is just a… a misunderstanding…” Wooyoung tries, for what might be the twelfth time. Each time, they keep ignoring him, conversing in languages he doesn’t understand, likely just to keep him in the dark and scared out of his mind.

It’s working. He is—scared out of his mind.

“I keep telling you, this uniform isn’t real, it’s not—I’m not a cop. I’m a stripper. My name is Jung Wooyoung.” He says again. “I don’t know if I got the wrong address, or if someone sent me as a _ prank— _”

“Not a very smart one.” Grunts one of the taller ones, who has a gorgeous face and elegant silver glasses perched on his nose. Wooyoung mentally designates him ‘Four-Eyes’.

“Unless the prank was on _ you.” _Adds the fox-faced man with prominent dimples and hair that’s bleached almost white. Platinum.

Wooyoung wonders if anyone at the agency really has _ that _much disdain for him.

“How cruel.” Comments the beautiful man with the birthmark next to his left eye. He says it in a way that’s almost… aloofly amused.

“What do you want to do about him, Seonghwa-ssi?” Questions the tallest of them. He looks the most imposing, as big and tall as he is, but his face is almost… kind. Piteous. Big’n’Tall looks at Big Boss and, ah. Now Wooyoung has at least one name.

Seonghwa, the one who is clearly in charge, waves at them. They all fall silent. He seems to consider the question for a moment before he looks back at Wooyoung. He pulls another chair over, setting it down a few paces in front of him before taking a seat in it, appearing completely unruffled.

“If you claim that you are a stripper,” Seonghwa says, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Then prove it.”

The room goes eerily still. It’s as though none of them even breathes.

The thing is…

Wooyoung does this for a living.

He should not be intimidated by the number of eyes on him. He has performed for larger crowds than this. He is not embarrassed to dance in front of strangers. But this… this is different.

Knowing who these men are… what they do… it could be his life on the line, here.

Seonghwa looks at someone over Wooyoung’s shoulder, nodding once. One of the others approaches and removes the handcuffs. They have to know they’re fake. They _ have _to. There’s a little latch that releases them so you don’t need a key. They don’t have the key. The handcuffs come away easily.

So then they’re just fucking with him.

Wooyoung watches as the man behind him circles around. It’s the shortest one, with bright red hair and a mischievous smile that reminds him of Peter Pan. He goes to pass the handcuffs off to Seonghwa, who holds a hand up, declining to take them.

Peter Pan moves back to stand with the others behind Seonghwa, spinning the handcuffs around one finger. The others who are behind Wooyoung move to join them. They all watch him in amusement.

Wooyoung swallows the lump in his throat and stands, rubbing his wrists.

“Usually I have some kind of music.”

His voice cracks, betraying just how terrified he is, but there’s an edge of sarcasm that bleeds through. It’s visible in the way he smirks, just barely.

Seonghwa’s expression doesn’t change; he just watches him, studies him. He lifts a hand, snaps his fingers again. One of the men behind him, the one with the platinum hair, scurries over to the sound system in the corner. He realizes his fate is sitting in this guy’s hands. If he picks a shitty song, this might be the end of him. He’d be signing his death warrant.

Platinum selects something, then hits play.

The introduction to a familiar song comes through the speakers… light synth, trap drums and a slow, jazzy saxophone.

Wooyoung feels the tension drain out of his shoulders as Chris Brown croons over the speakers. Platinum has not failed him. This is a best-case scenario. He lets all the world fall away, everyone but him and Seonghwa… and just succumbs to the beat.

He starts on the chair he was once cuffed to. An infinitesimal flash of what might be an impressed look graces Seonghwa’s face before he schools his features again. Wooyoung dances on the chair, spinning it elegantly and sitting on it backwards, then turning it again, standing on it. He pushes the back down with one foot, lets it fall with him on it, dismounts it smoothly into a front handstand. He uses the momentum to come back down in a fluid motion and grind his hips against the floor in a way he knows is just _ lewd _ right as the chorus starts.

Wooyoung rolls up onto his knees, then rolls his entire body, running his palm down the fake buttons of the uniform he’s wearing. He slips a finger between the seam, peeling the velcro apart, and it pulls away from collar to navel as he makes his way down. When he stands, he tears off the shirt, dropping it into a heap on the floor and leaving his torso covered with nothing but the black leather harness he has underneath. The straps criss-cross over his chest and shoulders, accented with silver o-rings, and he thinks he hears a strangled cough from somewhere behind Seonghwa.

He doesn’t let his eyes stray from Seonghwa, and puts it out of his mind. He focuses singularly on keeping Seonghwa’s attention. On _ earning _ it.

Wooyoung closes the distance between them. He approaches with none of the caution he probably should, getting well up into his space before he realizes that it may just be a death wish. He chooses to throw caution to the wind and treats him like any other high-profile client. _ Almost. _

He sidles up against his chair and sways his hips, unsure if he’s allowed to touch Seonghwa. His legs are only slightly parted, his hands sitting casually on the armrests of the chair. Surely if he didn’t want him to go all out, didn’t want him to touch, he would be more closed off. He’d have his legs crossed or his hands in his lap. His face betrays nothing; he’s watching Wooyoung with about as much emotion as one might watch paint dry. He’s either incredibly disciplined or Wooyoung is boring him.

That _ will not _ stand.

Wooyoung knows his strengths, so he plays to them. He runs a hand through the part of his hair, sinks his teeth into his glossy, plump bottom lip, channels his best bedroom eyes as he looks directly at Seonghwa and moves his body like his only thought is pleasing him.

Seonghwa still manages not to react, but Wooyoung isn’t too worried yet. He has other strengths he has yet to call upon. After another few bars, he gathers up the fabric at the front of his pants in his fists and pulls them away. The velcro tears with a satisfying sound, and he pitches them aside, leaving his legs clad in nothing but a pair of navy blue booty shorts.

His greatest assets, Wooyoung knows, are his thighs and his ass. He does not miss the way Seonghwa’s eyes immediately rake over the newly-exposed skin, hovering over the curve of his spine, the slope of it as he bends obscenely, then comes back up with what he knows is a coy look. He bats his lashes slowly, but not enough that it looks desperate. Seonghwa’s expression doesn’t change, but one of his hands does twitch. Wooyoung bites his lip around a smirk.

He continues to sway his body in languid, sensual movements. He doesn’t turn around and plant his hands on the floor to twerk in a way that’s over-the-top, in the way that always gets his drunkest patrons yelling and making it rain. He doesn’t think that’s something that would appeal to Seonghwa.

Seonghwa looks… distinguished. _ Picky. _He looks like the kind of person who would gauge any and all performances on an artistic scale, based on his own critical perceptions. So Wooyoung does not give him fun, or rowdy, or exaggerated.

Wooyoung gives him art.

Once upon a time, Wooyoung trained in classic and contemporary dance stylings. Once upon a time, he even had a dream to open his own dance studio, but he very quickly shelved that dream in favor of more realistic goals, like having food enough to survive and a roof over his head. He hasn’t even managed the second; he’s been couch-surfing for months.

Despite all of that, he never lost his passion for dancing… and he _ certainly _never lost his skill.

Wooyoung decides not to touch Seonghwa at all. It’s safer, but really… he intends to show off. Any decent stripper can turn someone on by grinding right up on their dick. No… Wooyoung intends to turn Seonghwa on without ever laying a finger on him.

His hand finds purchase on the underside of the seat cushion, right between Seonghwa’s legs. There’s enough space that his wrist just barely brushes the fabric of the other’s pants when he moves. He falls to his knees again, spread so wide that they’re to either side of Seonghwa’s immaculate dress shoes. He uses his grip on the seat as leverage to bend back against the floor, his other hand playing up along his own chest. He knows he must look obscene from this angle.

He pushes his knees together, lifting them over Seonghwa’s feet so they don’t brush against his shoes, not even allowing him such an innocent touch. Once his knees meet, he lets go of the chair, leaning back with both arms above him, now, and arching his back dramatically. He can feel the leather straps tighten against his skin, knows he must look like absolute _ sin, _and when he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, he sees Seonghwa grip the armrests so hard his knuckles whiten.

His expression hasn’t changed, exactly, but his eyes are _ smoldering. _Wooyoung knows his type well enough; stoic and unfettered, the epitome of control. Seonghwa may as well be drooling all over himself for what that small slip means for someone like him. Wooyoung knows that, and preens under the silent compliment.

He spins in place, refusing to even brush against Seonghwa’s legs as he pivots his knees so they’re on the floor. He stretches out, catlike, then curves back toward him, head ending up between Seonghwa’s knees. He stares at him, upside-down, and licks over his top lip, running his palm up over his own throat. His hands find the bottom rung of the armrests, allowing him to arch at an obscene angle, let his eyes flutter shut for a moment. He can’t remember the last time he put _ this _much of himself into a dance. He’s giving it his all, pulling out all the proverbial stops.

And yeah, he’s dancing like his life depends on it.

Wooyoung uses his grip on the chair to push off and turn again to face Seonghwa head-on. It’s a balancing act, but he slithers up between Seonghwa’s legs, hands sliding up over the chair—not _ him, _no, he still won’t touch him—until he’s standing again. He settles one leg against the small amount of cushion between Seonghwa’s thighs, which have spread infinitesimally wider over the last minute. His left hand finds the back of the chair behind Seonghwa, and he rolls his body in languid, sensual motions, not breaking eye contact.

Something in Seonghwa breaks, though.

He lifts a hand, slipping one finger into the silver o-ring at the center of the harness on Wooyoung’s chest. He doesn’t touch him, not _ really, _but he uses it like a collar, dragging him forward until Wooyoung has no choice but to settle on Seonghwa’s lap.

Only when Wooyoung is straddling him in the chair does he let go, his hand returning to the armrest.

It occurs to him then that Seonghwa _ could _ put his hands on him, could touch him all he damn well pleases, because what the hell is Wooyoung going to do? Tell him there’s a no-touching rule? They literally held him at gunpoint and handcuffed him to a chair. Seonghwa could do anything he wanted to him.

Wooyoung’s skin suddenly goes hot. He has none of the control he usually lords over his clients, and it surprises him just how much that affects him.

He’s touching Seonghwa, now… but he still chooses to play dirty. He leaves his weight on his own knees, keeps his ass hovering just a few inches from the other’s lap. The only contact he allows is the blazing warmth where the inside of his own naked thighs meet the outside of Seonghwa’s clothed ones. His hands hold the back of the chair as he rolls, writhes, grinds… but never directly against Seonghwa.

Wooyoung sees the muscles of his neck twitch with the effort to sit still. Whether it’s to save face or out of respect, he can’t really say… but Wooyoung wonders if it might be a little of both.

He’s panting softly by the time the song ends, leaning far, _ far _into Seonghwa’s space but never touching. He stills, remaining where he is just… hovering.

The room goes silent for several long, agonizing seconds.

“You’re rather good at that.” Seonghwa tells him finally, his voice low and breath so so close to his lips. “One of the best dancers I’ve ever seen.”

There’s nothing sugar-coated about his words. He means it. Wooyoung’s stomach does somersaults.

“Tell me something, Jung Wooyoung…” Seonghwa continues, just as quiet. “Do you enjoy doing this?”

Wooyoung swallows, nodding.

“I like dancing for people.” He tells him honestly. “I like when rich men give me their money. I like being spoiled.”

Seonghwa inclines his head in understanding, his expression not changing.

“How would you like to work for me? Work for _ us?” _ He asks, casting a backward glance toward his colleagues. “We can pay whatever you ask, I promise you that.”

Wooyoung shivers. Is he being serious? He tries not to let it show just how much his skin is vibrating.

“As a dancer?” He questions, his eyes moving down over Seonghwa’s chest, settling on his belt. “Or more of a…?”

“Is that a service you are willing to offer?” He asks, nothing showing on his face or in his tone as to what he may think about that.

Wooyoung nods. “For the right price, you can have anything you want.”

It’s shameless. He doesn’t care. He _ knows _what he wants.

“Allow us to hire you, then… as ours.” Seonghwa says, as though it’s enough of a description. Maybe it is. “You take care of us… and we will _ more _ than take care of you.”

Wooyoung salivates at the prospect. He knows these are dangerous men. Dangerous but clearly reasonable. Seonghwa hasn’t laid a single hand on him since he started dancing. He only touched his harness, and _ gently _ at that. That’s more than he can say for most of his clients.

“How does that sound?”

The way he asks is sweet, almost indulgent. Like he’s bargaining with a needy child.

_ Or a spoiled one. _

Wooyoung nods eagerly.

“How much were you being paid for tonight?” He questions in the same way he might a business deal, though his voice is soft at the edges.

Wooyoung throws him a number. It’s after the agency takes their cut, but it’s still one of his higher-paying gigs. Seonghwa still scoffs as though he’s personally offended on his behalf. Wooyoung suddenly feels cheap.

“I will pay you ten times that, just for the night, if you let me fuck you right here in front of my colleagues.” Seonghwa says in a gravely serious tone.

All at once, Wooyoung no longer feels cheap. He feels like the most valued treasure in all the city. A shining gem in the gloomy underground. Coveted.

His thoughts catch on something. _ Let me. _Like Wooyoung has a choice. Like it’s his choice to accept or not.

There’s not a gun to his head, now. Proverbial or not. He can sense the sincerity.

He nods. “O-okay.”

Seonghwa snaps a finger, motioning to his right and saying something in what Wooyoung thinks might be Cantonese. The men behind him split off immediately.

Platinum helps Big’n’Tall move one of the couches into the spot where the chair he’d been cuffed to once sat, having been carried off and set aside by Peter Pan. Birthmark and the last man—the one Wooyoung hadn’t really noticed do anything until now—both work together to move the larger sofa behind Seonghwa. He lifts it like it’s nothing, like some kind of strongman.

Four-Eyes drops a small duffel in front of the smaller couch. When Seonghwa stands, taking Wooyoung with him, he lets out a soft whine of surprise. Platinum passes behind them and snaps up the chair, setting it aside with the other one.

In tandem, they all sit on the longer couch. 

Watching them all move at the same time is like watching a well-oiled machine at work. Efficient. Impressive.

Seonghwa deposits him on the smaller sofa, long-ways, leaning down and hooking his fingers into the waistband of his obscene little shorts.

“May I?” He asks, tilting his head in question.

Wooyoung is a little thrown by the fact that he’s even bothering to ask, especially after he’s already received his consent to _ fuck him in front of his six fellow geondal associates _ but apparently Seonghwa is a gentleman. He nods, and Seonghwa all but tears them off of him. He’s not wearing anything underneath.

“Would you like a safeword?”

“Traffic lights’re fine.” Wooyoung responds with a calm sort of surety he isn’t certain he should be feeling given the circumstances.

He’s a professional, he reminds himself. This may not be a _ typical _situation, even for him… but he would be lying if he claimed it was not perfectly ideal.

This is the greatest opportunity life has ever given him. He knows that, and he intends to take advantage.

“All right.” Seonghwa regards him for a moment, curious. “You don’t seem nervous at all.”

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Wooyoung asks, craning his head up a little. “You promised you’d take care of me.”

Wooyoung’s ears are buzzing a little, but he thinks he hears someone—maybe Platinum—mutter, _ “damn” _ before Seonghwa lets out what is nothing short of a growl and absolutely attacks his mouth.

Seonghwa is a paragon of control, Wooyoung can tell, even as he allows his facade of apathy and calm to splinter and crack before falling away. He procures lube and a condom from the duffel Four-Eyes had brought over for him, and preps Wooyoung methodically. Wooyoung isn’t a stranger to sex work beyond just stripping… but that hadn’t been an expectation of _ this _job—at least as far as he knew when he took it—so he is grateful for Seonghwa’s patient and thorough nature.

When he finally pulls the condom on and slides home, Wooyoung keens eagerly. He’s a fantastic actor, if he says so himself, and has done some of his best work while naked and lying on his back.

But he doesn’t need to act now.

Seonghwa is breathtakingly attractive, and he is one hell of a lover.

He pins Wooyoung’s arms above his head and fucks him hard, his eyes raking over him the entire time, like he doesn’t know what he likes to watch best. Is it the way the leather straps strain along Wooyoung’s chest as he heaves for air? Or the way his throat moves with aborted attempts at forming real words, only managing broken moans and whines? Maybe it’s his mouth, fallen open and lips swollen, bitten-red, which he leans down to kiss and nip again and again. So often, his gaze settles on Wooyoung’s eyes, too, hooded and pleasure-drunk and gladly meeting his at every opportunity.

His eyes travel lower as well, watching how Wooyoung takes him so eagerly. His grip moves lower, too, tightening on thick thighs, holding them tight against his side. A slight shift in the angle has Seonghwa sliding deeper, fucking harder, and Wooyoung moans, unbridled and shameless.

_ “Christ _ the way he _ sounds…” _Hisses Big’n’Tall, his knuckles white on the couch cushion.

Wooyoung mewls at the compliment, rewarding him with several seconds of direct eye contact. It only breaks when his eyes flutter shut from a particularly hard thrust from Seonghwa, which pulls another obscene sound out of him.

Big’n’Tall makes a strangled sort of noise into the back of his own hand, looking away.

Seonghwa says nothing, but his gaze is dark and possessive. A moment later, he’s dragging Wooyoung up and shifting to sit on the couch himself, pulling Wooyoung to straddle his lap.

They resume their pace as though it never stopped, Seonghwa’s hands finding purchase on Wooyoung’s upper thighs while Wooyoung’s settle on Seonghwa’s shoulders, bracing.

“God, that ass.” Strongman mutters from behind him.

Someone hums in agreement, but Wooyoung can’t tell who. He makes a show of arching back, letting his spine curve obscenely for their viewing pleasure.

“Can you hear them drooling over you?” Seonghwa asks in a low voice, his tone surprisingly even. “They must be imagining all the ways they intend to ruin you. But right now… you’re all mine.”

“Y-yes, sir…” He grunts, and that has Seonghwa growling again, raking his blunt nails down Wooyoung’s side. That pulls a high-pitched cry from his throat that makes the others groan into their fists.

Wooyoung isn’t exactly in control here, but regardless, he still feels like he has so much power.

It surprises him when Seonghwa works to get him off first. He wraps a hand around Wooyoung’s cock and matches the pace of his own thrusts, intent on making him come. He isn’t used to it, but he chases it eagerly, bouncing on Seonghwa’s lap like he’s getting paid.

(But then again, he is.)

It isn’t much longer before he comes. It washes over him slow and building, then all at once like a crashing wave. He lets out a noise that’s not only obscene but _ loud, _and he can’t find it in himself to care one bit if anyone outside this room hears him. Wooyoung’s senses are a little muddled as Seonghwa continues fucking him, chasing his own high. It’s too much, like every nerve inside him is alight. But beyond the ringing in his ears, he hears the men behind him curse, hissing filthy little whispers between them. There’s not one among them unaffected.

Seonghwa comes with a groan against the curve of Wooyoung’s neck, and it takes a long while before they both stop trembling.

When Seonghwa leans forward and kisses him sloppy and open-mouthed, he thinks this might just be the start of something beautiful.

***

The first thing they establish for Wooyoung is his own space.

The seven of them live in a two-story penthouse in the heart of downtown Seoul. They have plenty of other properties, Seonghwa explains, but they grew up on the streets together, so living together in luxury only felt natural, too. They each have their own individual bedrooms and their own spaces; a workout room, offices, creative studios… and the apartment is so large that every one of them could be home and you’d never know it unless you wanted to.

Seonghwa gives Wooyoung several choices, but he eagerly takes an apartment in the same building, just a few floors down. He insists he only wants something small, shocked that they’re offering living arrangements at all. It’s especially surprising since they’ve _ also _claimed he’ll have a room of his own in the penthouse, in case he should ever have need of it.

(He never tells anyone this, would never reveal it to a single soul, but the first night he gets to sleep in a bed he can call his own, he cries himself to sleep. He can’t even remember the last time he’d fallen asleep in a place that was his.)

There are rules, which Wooyoung is surprised he is allowed to have a hand in creating.

There are health tests, first, and agreements that if any sexual activity occurs outside of the eight of them, new tests have to be done. It’s a bit logistical, but it allows a level of transparency and safety for all of them. Additionally, no more than two of them may separately request his company per twenty-four hours. Seonghwa had initially suggested just one, but Wooyoung insisted he could handle more than that. He was a professional, after all.

Seonghwa’s smoldering gaze on him felt heavier, then.

All kinks had to be approved—in advance—by Wooyoung. He had the right to refuse anything he wasn’t comfortable with. When he looks over the initial contract with the requests from each of them, he approves everything on it. There’s nothing too terribly revolting, and honestly, he’ll do a lot for a paycheck _ this _ amazing. It’s made clear that there was to be no real, lasting bodily harm to his person, and no one was to request his company without first ensuring he had eaten no more than four hours prior.

All in all, the rules are for _ his _ protection, not to keep him in line. Wooyoung is dizzy with confusion over it for about a day, but he soon realizes that it only makes sense.

This is a job, but it’s also a relationship. In the places where those two things intersect, Seonghwa builds him a safety net. Wooyoung isn’t sure if it’s an apology for how cruelly they played with him that first night, if he feels bad for terrifying him… or if it’s something else entirely. But truthfully, he doesn’t think so. He finds it more likely that Seonghwa only wants to ensure that Wooyoung understands that isn’t how things are going to work from now on.

Despite all the prep and the logistics, Wooyoung learns as he goes.

He learns their names, first. It wouldn’t exactly do to call them the nicknames he’d mentally assigned them when they first met. It isn’t long before he learns their _ real _ names, and learns that since he’ll be working for them, they’d all like him to call them _ sir. _

_ That _settles warm and bright in the pit of his gut, a simmering heat that never really goes away.

The first to call upon him is the redhead he’d likened to Peter Pan. His real name is Hongjoong and he owns about half the buildings in the fashion district. He runs a boutique of his own, and a clothing line. The business is a front for how he makes the _ real _money (the specifics of which he does not indulge), but his Reformation line is his real passion, Wooyoung can tell.

Hongjoong gets to go first because he is Seonghwa’s right-hand man. Seonghwa trusts him above all the others—though he claims to trust all of them, he insists—and he thinks it will help ease Wooyoung into the arrangement.

Wooyoung doesn’t mind. It’s just another way he feels like he’s being taken care of.

Hongjoong sends him a gift the afternoon before they’re meant to meet, and asks him to wear it.

Wooyoung shivers as he runs a finger along the strap that connects the stockings to the garter belt settling just above his navel. Lavender and black lace, strappy and floral, the getup suits him perfectly, like it’s made for him.

(It _ is _made for him; Hongjoong hand-sewed it just for him, per the note on the garment box. Wooyoung feels utterly spoiled.)

He meets Hongjoong in his bedroom, and when he unzips the oversized hoodie he’s got on, revealing the lingerie, Hongjoong stares at him like he’s the most beautiful man on earth. His expression is predatory, as is his gait as he stalks the distance between them, hauling him close for a searing kiss.

Hongjoong has a bit of a narcissistic streak, Wooyoung thinks… at least when it comes to his work. The way his eyes rake over every inch of the lingerie, watching the way the lace hugs his body, snapping the straps and watching Wooyoung’s skin go pink. He fucks him in front of a mirror so that he can see it all, taking it all in.

Hongjoong has plenty of praises for Wooyoung, though, too—he says such sweet things to him as he fucks him, tells him how beautiful he looks, how good he feels, how perfect he sounds. Hongjoong is a small guy but his _ presence _ is imposing, his confidence making him seem larger than life. Wooyoung gladly submits.

After that—and after Seonghwa ensures that everything went well, that Wooyoung is comfortable and wants to continue their arrangement—the others are given the green light.

Wooyoung is a little surprised at who jumps at the chance first, versus who lies back in wait, patient.

Platinum is eerily gleeful and eager. His real name is San and he seems to have two sides to him, from the way Wooyoung is struggling to get a read on his personality.

He has seen him around the penthouse with the others, often teasing them in a whiny voice, throwing himself on them when he wants their attention, joking and laughing and play-fighting. His bedroom is filled with cute things; collectible figurines and stuffed animals. He’s got a coy smile that turns sly in an instant. It isn’t often that the guys are forced to take the darker parts of their jobs home, but there are times when Wooyoung has seen San return to the penthouse with bloody knuckles, his face speckled with vermillion and twisted into a cruel expression of irritation.

He warns Wooyoung that he was the one who had made several of the harder requests in the initial negotiations, and admits that he can be quite cruel in intimate settings.

Wooyoung doesn’t mind. Wooyoung enjoys a challenge.

They meet in San’s office. When San sets his gun on the desk, an automatic rush of panic boils in Wooyoung’s gut. He forces it down.

He points out that the safety is on, and doesn’t pick it back up until Wooyoung nods. He presses a button on the grip and the magazine slides out, clattering onto the desk. He pulls back the slide, next, and the bullet that was in the chamber flies out, ending up on the floor somewhere. San shows him the cleared chamber before he pulls the trigger, letting the slide click back into place.

Guns make Wooyoung… uncomfortable, since he is a mortal human (naturally), but he’s a professional. The fact that it could have killed him just seconds before lights a visceral reaction of fear within him. It’s muddled by too many other emotions for him to allow himself to linger on it, though.

“Okay?” San asks, probably seeing something in his eyes.

“Yeah.” Wooyoung assures, casual.

San slaps him hard across the face.

The shock of it pulls a small yelp out of him, pain blooming across his cheek and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, sir.” He corrects himself, breathless.

“Color?”

“Green, sir.”

San nods slowly, picking up the gun.

San makes him suck the barrel of it lewdly, then has him suck his cock. Before he can finish him, San pulls him off and fucks him hard and rough on the desk, shoving the gun back into his mouth. Wooyoung comes harder, he thinks, than he ever has in his life. San slaps him harshly across the face for coming without permission, finishing inside him while holding tightly to his jaw, not allowing him to look away as tears streak down his face.

He isn’t sad or scared or hurt, just overwhelmed… and when it’s all over, San cleans him up and makes sure he’s all right before letting him leave. Wooyoung is a little dazed, but it’s not the strangest or worst client experience he’s ever had.

San is the exception, though. Most of the guys are far more tame.

Mingi—whom Wooyoung had dubbed ‘Four-Eyes’ at first, given that he’s the only one of them who regularly wears glasses—might be the tamest of all. He texts Wooyoung to come to his office late one afternoon and it’s clear by the time he arrives that Mingi is still working.

He sounds stern, but bored, as he talks into the phone. He’s speaking a language Wooyoung doesn’t understand. When he opens the door, Mingi acknowledges him only with eye contact and a slight nod of his chin. Once Wooyoung closes and latches the door behind him, Mingi slides his chair back from his desk, his legs falling open slightly. An invitation.

The message is quite clear.

Mingi handles whatever business he’s working on with his usual cool demeanor, even as Wooyoung settles onto his knees beneath his desk and worships his cock. He’s big; Wooyoung gags more than once, but pushes through for the way it earns him an impressed glance. Mingi pets through his hair, quelling and encouraging all at once, and Wooyoung can’t help but want to please him.

Once his business is concluded, Mingi hangs up the phone with a click, then holds Wooyoung’s head still so he can fuck his mouth until he comes. Now that he’s not holding back, his conference call ended, he allows his own deep groans and harsh sighs to fill the room. There isn’t anything particularly fierce about his movements, though; they’re almost lazy, unhurried, and after, he pulls him up to his feet for a filthy kiss.

Wooyoung doesn’t always get off on giving head, since most of his old clients weren’t exactly his type, but Mingi has him straining in his too-tight jeans.

Once he’s kissed the breath out of him, Mingi just tucks himself back into his slacks, murmurs a sweet, “thanks, beautiful” and swats his flank in a way that feels dismissive, like he’s being told to leave.

Wooyoung offers a coy, “anytime” and heads out. It’s not the first time a client didn’t feel like getting him off, or reciprocating in any way. It’s not _ bad; _ Wooyoung provides a service. It’s not really _ about _ him getting off, so it doesn’t exactly bother him.

It doesn’t make him any less worked up, though.

He figures he’ll head back down to his own apartment to take a long, hot bath and treat himself to some “me-time”. Self-care. He has that luxury now.

When he crosses through the living room, Seonghwa is there, reading the newspaper.

“Ah, Wooyoung… heading out?”

“Um, I guess.” Wooyoung answers noncommittally. His lips are swollen and red, his hair a bit of a mess and cheeks flushed. It’s no mystery to Seonghwa, he’s certain, why he dropped by. It’s not often that he’s over for anything _ else. _

He seems to sense something in Wooyoung’s tone and cocks his head in curiosity, setting his newspaper aside.

“Well, since you’re here… I’ve been meaning to see how you’ve been adjusting. Has everything been all right? With how the others have treated you, and with your compensation? The living arrangements?”

Wooyoung hums, nodding. “Yeah, no, everything’s been great. Um… the _ compensation _is fine, and the apartment’s really nice.”

He actually has more money than he knows what to do with, especially since the guys are always buying him expensive designer clothes and having it sent to his place. They pay for his phone, his clothes, his living arrangements… everything that matters. He doesn’t even know _ what _ to spend all his money on. He’s just been putting it in his savings, ordering take-out as he pleases and indulging in some ludicrously-priced bath bombs.

Seonghwa smiles genially. “Good.”

“Just asking in general, or?”

Seonghwa inclines his head, found out. “Well, yes, but today you do appear particularly… frustrated.”

Wooyoung presses his lips together, looking away.

“Who did you come to see?” Seonghwa asks casually.

“Mingi.” Wooyoung tells him, figuring secrets probably don’t matter between these guys. They’re as close as close can get.

“Ah.” Seonghwa nods in understanding. “He’s a bit of a lazy one. I would be surprised if he was even awake when you serviced him.”

Wooyoung can’t help the laugh that bursts from him, then, and he covers his mouth.

Seonghwa just looks amused. “Was it just him, then?”

“Mhm.” Wooyoung confirms.

Seonghwa regards him for a moment, his eyes captivating in their intensity. “Would you like to see to _ my _needs, then, and allow me to see to yours?”

Wooyoung’s mouth goes dry, and he lets a small whimper loose as he nods eagerly.

Even _ if _ Mingi had made him come, it’s not an offer he would’ve turned down.

Seonghwa asks him for a dance, first. The others haven’t really bothered, other than maybe telling him to take his clothes off slowly. But Seonghwa seems to be the one who really appreciates that he’s a dancer at heart. He watches him with rapt attention, but this time, when he wants to touch, he does.

He _ can. _

Seonghwa fucks him right there over the back of the couch until they both come, then eats him out on the coffee table until Wooyoung is coming again. It’s filthy, and they gain an audience more than once, but Seonghwa seems all the more eager for it.

Everyone has their kinks. He knows damn well by now that Seonghwa’s is exhibitionism.

Some of them are a little more vanilla.

Big’n’Tall, he learns, is a gentle giant named Yunho. He’s not very kinky at all. He asks Wooyoung for his comfort level the entire time, works him open slow and methodical even though Wooyoung assures him he preps before every session just in case. Wooyoung wouldn’t dare complain, though; Yunho has hands to _ die _ for, with long fingers that reach places inside him that he didn’t even know _ existed. _

Some of them are _ textbook, _though. Strongman—Jongho, in actuality—is obsessed with Wooyoung’s ass and thighs. He lightly slaps them and nibbles at the sensitive skin while he preps him, then fucks his thighs before he ever even gets inside him. Wooyoung whines for his dick, and eventually he gets what he wants, Jongho fucking him hard and fast while he clings to the headboard for dear life.

He knows damn well which boxes Jongho had checked during the initial negotiations of the permitted kinks. When Wooyoung hisses at him, “you can spank me, sir,” Jongho practically loses it. He leaves Wooyoung’s ass sore and red and blazing hot, but he fucking _ lives _ for it. Seeing just how wrecked he can make the other, watching him fall apart and still ensure that Wooyoung gets his own pleasure… it’s _ more _ than worth it.

Some of them are a bit more complicated. Birthmark is hard to read, because he’s so quiet most of the time. His name, Wooyoung learns, is Yeosang, and he is not all that quiet when it’s just the two of them.

Yeosang takes the longest to request his company. He doesn’t seem timid about it, per se, but he’s obviously treading carefully. He seems like a cautious person, so Wooyoung does his best to make him comfortable, to ease him into it. He doesn’t take the lead, but he initiates, nudging Yeosang toward some kind of action. _ Any _ kind of action.

“Such an eager little slut, aren’t you?” Yeosang asks him in a voice deceptively deep for his face. He’s quiet, testing.

Wooyoung realizes he must be the one who requested this… to use humiliating words. He had assumed it had been San, but that he had simply not felt very talkative during their first session. He had assumed wrong.

“Yes, sir.” Wooyoung breathes out, letting his tongue play along his own bottom lip. “Wanna please you.”

Yeosang seems to ease up, after that.

His mouth is like a faucet of humiliating filth, and once he gets going, he can’t stop. He calls Wooyoung every debasing name in every language in his lexicon, and the only time he stops is when _ he _ is the one to eagerly suck on Wooyoung’s fingers while Wooyoung rides him, reveling in the delicious burn in his thighs.

After a little while, Wooyoung learns he’s allowed to be selfish. On the nights when no one requests him… perhaps because Jongho has divulged to them just how hard he spanked him the night before, or because they had heard for themselves exactly how roughly one of the others had fucked him, if he is still feeling needy for company, he learns to reach out.

On those nights, he often goes to Yunho… who seems to revel in running his huge hands over every inch of him, working out the kinks and knots in the muscles of his back. He gives better massages than any professional, Wooyoung thinks, and once he’s loose and pliant and squirming, Yunho gladly fucks him slow and sweet until he’s coming undone beneath his warm weight.

(Yunho also likes to sleep in, so Wooyoung will indulge in after-sex cuddles and fall asleep knowing that he will not be left cold and alone at any time before noon unless dire business calls for it.)

Eventually, they begin requesting him together… usually no more than two at a time. There are occasions when he will suck Hongjoong off while Seonghwa fucks him from behind, or both San and Yeosang take him at once—not something he’s ever tried before—which quickly becomes a favorite. He learns a little about their dynamics with each other along the way, too.

They treat him how they want to, when he is in their service… but none of them ever makes him feel worthless or like he is property. They do everything in their power to make it feel like a job… and they respect him as anyone else they employ. But, at the same time, he feels himself bonding with them in a way that feels natural. His job evolves; he is asked to come along to community events and banquets, sometimes, usually by Seonghwa. Hongjoong takes great pleasure in making pieces for him that may or may not end up as part of his fashion line. Yunho will ask him to come watch a scary film with him or just spend the evening together cuddled up on the couch. After hearing about a cat-calling incident, San takes him to a secret gun range in the warehouse district and teaches him how to shoot, then runs through several self-defense techniques with him. Even if he doesn’t have a gun of his own, it’s empowering.

(Except, a black metal briefcase shows up in his apartment the next day, with a beautiful 9mm pistol just for him. The card, hand-written from San, tells him it’s a model with low recoil and a high round capacity, to better suit his needs. He keeps it in his nightstand, just in case.)

Before he knows it, he’s been working for them for six months. He’s caught himself gaining more weight than he’d like to (probably because he’s actually eating a healthy amount of meals), so he moves some of the furniture in his apartment and starts dancing again. It’s rare that one of them asks him to dance for them, though it does happen, but it feels good to indulge in his passion just because he wants to.

Seonghwa apparently intends to celebrate the milestone of his six months employed with them by inviting him to an end-of-quarter meeting he’s called for all of them. Wooyoung is told to arrive after all of the boring business-talk, for which he is grateful, but as he’s finishing up, Seonghwa invites him up to the head of the massive table with him in the conference room. He goes obediently, and unsurprisingly—given Seonghwa’s penchant for exhibitionism—he ends up on his back, stark naked on the table while Seonghwa fucks him within an inch of his sanity.

Much like that first night, the others have a hard time hiding just how much it affects them, and when Seonghwa goads them, they take the permission he grants them to relieve themselves.

Wooyoung loves to leave men slobbering over him, captivated by his every move, his every sound… and looking up to watch as he’s flanked by a half-dozen men in immaculate suits with their dicks out, jerking off over _ him, _while arguably the most powerful man in Seoul fucks him raw… 

Wooyoung comes untouched, wailing and writhing and shaking and not holding anything back.

When his vision isn’t completely blacked out, he blinks up at them, still whimpering with oversensitivity.

“Sirs, I want it… please, please, give it to me…” His voice is breathless and wanton, but _ sure. _It doesn’t take long before they fulfill his request, coming all over him in succession like so many dominoes falling down one by one.

The world goes a little hazy as he comes down, covered in come, _ filled _ with come, and it’s _ filthy _ but it’s _ so good, _and Wooyoung licks his lips and smiles.

***

That week has Wooyoung in a fantastic mood. The end of the quarter means his employers are busy with work, so they don’t call on him as often. It isn’t until Thursday that Seonghwa requests his presence.

Wooyoung opens the man’s office door and is greeted with a smile. Not a leer, or a smirk… a _ smile. _Wooyoung stuffs down the feeling that sends crawling up his throat, and takes the invitation of a beckoning hand to sit on Seonghwa’s lap.

He winces when something hard digs into his thigh, looking down.

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“Oh, my apologies.” Seonghwa startles, twisting where he sits to pull his pistol out of his waistband and set it on the desk in front of him.

Wooyoung stares for a moment in silence before bursting out in a fit of high-pitched giggles.

“I _ am _happy to see you, though.” Seonghwa admits once Wooyoung settles down, smiling fondly. “How was your week?”

“Mm, a little boring. You’ve all been so busy that I just caught up on some dramas.” Wooyoung admits.

Seonghwa chuckles at that. “We’ve all been swamped handling end-of-quarter logistics. I do hope you weren’t feeling too neglected.”

“Well, not anymore.” Wooyoung preens, grinning brightly.

Seonghwa rolls his eyes with a huff of a laugh. “I’m afraid I actually called you here on end-of-quarter business as well, and not anything more exciting.”

“Oh. What kind of business?” Wooyoung asks, curious.

“I thought I would check in with you as I would with any business partner.” Seonghwa tells him. “To get your thoughts, your feelings on how things are going.”

“Oh.” Wooyoung is a little thrown. He tries not to show it. “Yeah, I mean. Good. Things are good. I’m good. Great, actually.”

“That’s always nice to hear. I can’t say I hear it often.” Seonghwa admits. “Is there anything else that you want?”

“Mm, I mean I guess I was eyeing that new iPhone.” Wooyoung murmurs thoughtfully.

“Not material things.” Seonghwa chides fondly, shaking his head in amusement. “Since you seem to have adjusted well here, I wondered if you had thought about the long-term. Is there anything you have considered for your future? Any dreams you might have?”

Wooyoung’s lips twist up a little. “Oh. Um. No? Not really.”

“Do you want to go back to school? Start your own business?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “Nah. Was never any good at school… and I don’t know the first thing about running a business.”

Seonghwa nods. “I only ask because I assumed you might not want to do this forever. If you do, that is fine, of course. But I am only thinking of what you may wish for the future.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “That’s a problem for future me.”

Seonghwa laughs like it was stolen out of him. “Is that so? Well, indulge me for the sake of future-you. What would be your wildest dream become reality, in terms of how you spend your time and make a living?”

“Mm… working as a live-in boy toy for seven ludicrously rich, handsome crime lords with good manners and gorgeous cocks.” Wooyoung says wistfully, smirking in that pleasure-drunk way of his.

Seonghwa’s tone is flat. “Wooyoung, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Wooyoung says, leveling him with an unwavering stare. “This is the best opportunity I could have ever asked for. I’m happy.”

Wooyoung half expects Seonghwa to pity him. Maybe it seems like such a low calling to him, to someone who dragged himself out of the slums by sheer force of will and did not stop until he was seated upon the throne of a criminal empire… but for Wooyoung, this _ is _ the dream. He supposes he had different dreams before, but he hasn’t been able to allow himself to even imagine the possibility of them becoming reality that he has utterly dismissed them. To Seonghwa, he’s probably materialistic and needy and small-minded and _ stupid _but—

“All right.” He responds. His tone is fond and indulgent. “You are welcome to do as you please, for as long as you please. But in case the day comes that you no longer want to do this, I only wanted to offer you something else. Are you certain there is _ nothing…? _You don’t need to answer me now, I suppose. You’re welcome to think about it—”

“A dance academy.” Wooyoung blurts out, unbidden. “I guess I… used to. Before. I wanted to teach dance, to young people. Kids. But I _ enjoy _what I do! I love this. But maybe… later, when…”

When he’s older. When he can’t so easily use his looks to seduce other men. When Seonghwa and the others grow bored of him.

His gut lurches painfully at the thought.

“Ah, so that’s it.” Seonghwa pipes up, eyes full of mirth. “That’s something you might be interested in, then? Owning a dance studio?”

“I… guess. But, not right now. I—”

“You don’t need to think about any of the logistics now. I was only curious.” Seonghwa assures. “I am known to plan for the long-term.”

“Right…” Wooyoung murmurs, lost in his own thoughts.

“Is that why you moved your furniture?” Seonghwa asks softly. “The cleaning staff mentioned it.”

Wooyoung nods, looking down.

“I could… set something up for you. Somewhere larger. There’s space in the loft, if I had the piano moved off-center, or I could have some walls knocked down in one of the apartments on your floor.”

Wooyoung jolts out of his daze. “What? No, that’s… that’s too much. You don’t… I don’t need all that.”

“I’ll have the piano moved over in the loft, then. We can set up a speaker for you, and I’ll make sure the wood floors have been polished. Would you like that?”

The way he asks is soft, gentle. Wooyoung’s heart clenches in his chest, and he nods.

Seonghwa continues on with some other suggestions, but Wooyoung doesn’t really hear him. His mind is going a million different places, scheming a thousand possibilities. He’s less eager than he is frightened. It just seems overwhelming to think about.

Maybe someday, this arrangement might not be enough. But right now, it’s all he could ever want.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! You can find me on twt and CC @VermillionVamp


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